Where John Ross had crossed the river,
Where his ferryboat once sank.
Wandered through the vale of dryness,
Chattanooga’s pretty flow,
Clear as crystal, pure as sunbeams,
Winding hither too and fro.
Drank the waters, bathed they in it,
Fished and hunted stream and plain,
Where the buffalo once wandered,
But where none now doth remain.